


What We Promise in the Dark

by SKEvans



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: A sprinkle of angst for flavor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cloud is petty, F/M, Fake Dating, Office/Corporate Setting, Protect Tifa 2020, Romance, Sexual Content, Some Humor, The true otp is Cloud/Coffee, and we love to see it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SKEvans/pseuds/SKEvans
Summary: The sob that breaks the silence doesn’t surprise him—it’s become obvious by now that Tifa Lockhart isn’t the cold and composed woman she always pretends to be. She’s like him or anyone else—human and filled to the brim with emotions that eventually overflow, drowning their minds. Cloud detaches himself from the window, picking up the box of tissues on the desk before sitting next to her, making sure to keep a certain distance. He extends his hand with the box while staring straight ahead; he gets the impression she wouldn’t want him looking at her right now.“Tissues?” he says, voice soft and a little awkward.(Or, that one time Cloud thought being smooth was a good idea—and the trouble it got him into.)
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 166
Kudos: 253





	1. When we were liars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [legendaryboo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendaryboo/gifts).



> Hi friends!
> 
> This is my birthday gift for my baby, the amazing [legendaryboo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendaryboo).
> 
> Boo, you deserve all the love in the world, and this is what I can do for you—I hope you love it as much as I love all the support and encouragement you've shown me. 
> 
> This is gonna be a fun one, oh yeah. Let's go!

—

**WHAT WE PROMISE IN THE DARK**

—

**1**

When we were liars

—

Cloud hates the break room. There’s nothing wrong _with_ the room, really—it’s the people in it that make the place unbearable. Gossip always flows, endless chittering that’s become little more than a buzzing in his ears now—but he remembers when he started his job at Shinra Corp three years ago. He would hear every word back then; they would pique his curiosity for a second or two, but the affluent stream of gossip would drown them out, so he stopped listening.

Sometimes, though, he still listens. Out of boredom, really; it happens on the rare days where he’s got nothing to do. Like today. Today, Cloud takes his time getting a coffee refill, and that’s why he hears the gossip.

“Being rich will do that to you.”

“Why is she even here, anyway? Other than to be the company’s little princess.”

Cloud rolls his eyes. There’s no doubt who they’re talking about—Tifa Lockhart, daughter of one founder of the company. He glares at the coffee pot, willing it to drip faster; he can’t listen to this bullshit without coffee.

“I just _hate_ that she pretends to be nice. We all know she looks down on us.”

“Yeah, I remember that. Like, at least have the guts to be honest.”

“Seriously. Maybe people would respect her if she was.”

Cloud turns his head a little to spy on the people talking—and freezes as he spots Tifa Lockhart standing still in the doorway to the break room. For a second, she seems hurt, almost shocked, but he blinks and she’s back to normal—cold and composed. Like she doesn’t care about all this, and Cloud figures he must have imagined the crack in her armor.

Her heels click as she steps into the room; the hush that falls over the employees weighs heavily. Cloud can’t help it—as he pours his fucking coffee, he angles his body so he can watch the scene. While Tifa Lockhart isn’t his favorite person in the company—far from it, actually—there’s something satisfying about witnessing the culprits reaping the consequences of their actions.

He can’t say if he’s surprised or not when she says nothing—in a way this is worse, her silence only amplifying the one that blanketed the room at her arrival. She makes for the coffee maker, and Cloud moves to the side to let her access it. Her nearby presence crowds him, but he refuses to walk away like he’s one of those scared gossipers—after all, he’s got a meeting with her in the next hour, and this isn’t the time to seem afraid. His stubbornness is why he notices her pinched lips and frown as she fills her insulated cup almost to the brim; the way she’s positioned, no one else could witness her annoyance—because annoyance is what Cloud guesses this is. He knows that’s what he would feel.

When Tifa is done pouring her coffee (his coffee, really, but he’ll let it slide this time), she takes her sweet time looking for cream and sugar, adjusting her coffee to taste, and twisting the lid back on her cup. Cloud takes a sip of his too-hot coffee to hide his growing smirk at her dedication to making everyone in the room feel uncomfortable. She twirls around on her heels and out of the room with one last, lingering look in the gossipers’ direction. It takes a moment after she leaves for people to speak up again, but by then Cloud has lost interest, so he goes back to his office.

Out of the few offices he’s cycled through in his career, this one at Shinra Corp is his favorite. It’s far from being extravagant—the space is more than enough for him alone—but the windows make the room look spacious and bright, something he enjoys immensely. They had offered him another office on a higher floor when he had gotten promoted four months ago, but while it had been bigger, the prevalent darkness of it hadn’t suited him. Cloud plops down in his chair, puts down his cup on the table, and prepares his materials for his meeting with Tifa Lockhart.

As he searches for some stray paper he needs—one day he’ll get used to keeping things on a computer—Cloud thinks back on what happened in the break room. Though it would be easier to pretend he’d imagined her hurt when she’d come in and overheard, Cloud knows it’s an unfair thing to do. Anyone constantly hearing their coworkers trashing them would be affected, and there’s no reason to assume Tifa would be any different despite her best efforts to be. The thoughts keep on whirling through his mind as he makes his way to her office, three floors above.

The elevator’s doors open on a much nicer space, one he doesn’t visit that often. He veers to the right, heading for her office, and stops as he reaches the doors. Cloud throws a glance at her assistant’s empty desk—it’s a complete mess, similar to his, actually—but he’s glad to see Yuffie isn’t there. He’s not in the mood for her chattering. His knock on the office’s doors resounds in this rather empty corner of the floor, and Cloud already has his hand on the handle by the time he’s called inside.

This isn’t his first visit to Tifa’s office in the years he’s worked here. Still, there’s always a sting of jealousy when he enters—the space is big and lavish, though not so different from others’ with similar positions in the Company. But it’s the wall of windows that makes him sigh in envy. Cloud drags his eyes towards Tifa, who is still focused on her computer, her furious typing echoing in the room.

“Miss Lockhart,” he says as a greeting. Her insistent use of formality when addressing others has always annoyed him, but he knows better than to be too familiar.

“Just a minute.” Her eyes don’t stray from her screen as he takes a seat.

Cloud drops the documents on the edge of her desk; he crosses his legs and leans back in the chair, waiting. Truth is, he hates waiting, more so in situations like these. Her blatant dismissal of his time only reminds him why she’s not his favorite person—to work with or otherwise. He taps his foot, the steady rhythm joining her typing. After a minute, she halts, a frown betraying her irritation, and swivels in her chair to face him. Cloud keeps his foot moving for longer than necessary so she hears his impatience loud and clear.

“Are you ready?” she asks with a pointed look.

“Of course.” Cloud gestures at the documents. “Everything has been there for a few minutes now.”

It surprises him when she goes to roll her eyes—she catches her display of displeasure before it goes too far, but it’s hard to ignore coming from her. From Tifa Lockhart, who never allows her cold facade to crack. Well, almost never, he thinks as he remembers what happened earlier. She goes through the file in silence, and after a minute, Cloud resumes tapping his foot. It’s both to ease his exasperation and build hers.

“Would you stop that?” she snaps after another minute.

Cloud widens his eyes as he falls deeper into the chair; his foot doesn’t stop. “Stop what?”

“That tapping,” she bites out, closing the folder. “It’s annoying.”

“You could just ask politely, you know.” Still, he complies, aware he can’t push his luck too far.

When she does roll her eyes this time, Cloud raises his eyebrows in surprise. It’s so unlike what he’s come to know of her, to be open with her emotions, that he figures she must be having a really shitty day.

“The proposal is fine.” Her curt tone acts as a dismissal.

It’s hard to contain the incredulous chuckle that escapes him—and to be honest, Cloud doesn’t try very hard. “That’s it?”

“Did you expect anything else?” She switches her focus to her computer once more.

“Feedback? Guidance?”

“It’s fine as is.”

Irritation zaps through Cloud as she keeps her gaze away from his. “No improvements needed? None at all?”

“What do you want me to do, Mr. Strife?” She stops typing. “For me to tell you how to do your job?”

“No,” Cloud says, voice snappier than should be, “but you could do yours.”

Her hands curls into fists over the keyboard. “I see you still haven’t discovered what respect is.” She leans forward; her voice is low when she says, “The proposal is fine, Mr. Strife. Now get out.”

It takes a lot out of him not to scoff, but he manages to keep his composure as he grabs the file and gets to his feet. He says nothing, only strides for the door, letting it fall shut behind him. Cloud is again glad for Yuffie’s absence as he continues towards the elevator—there’s no doubt his anger is written all over his face. Tifa Lockhart’s attitude is what always got to him—not her status at one of the founders’ daughter, not her position in Shinra Corp possibly being handed down to her on a silver platter. Maybe it’s because of the undercurrent of falseness that he’s always sensed around her, or maybe it’s just _her_ in all her cold glory; it’s not that it matters, really, but every time he meets with her, Cloud leaves irritated.

This time, as he gets back to his office and throws the folder on the desk, the papers scattering on the surface and on the floor, Cloud finds himself on the deep end of annoyance. He doesn’t even glance at the discarded documents; instead, he walks to the window and watches the world of Midgar below him. This false sense of control, like he’s untouchable from this high up, has always brought him some calm. It’s no different this time around, only the anger doesn’t fade completely; the afternoon carries on, and though it thins out, there is still a string of vexation that manipulates him. At some point, he goes back into the break room to get more coffee—and his glare shuts down a coworker’s budding joke about his caffeine intake. Cloud usually ignores those, but today is not the right day for harmless teasing—he feels ready to snap at just about anyone.

The thing is, Cloud knows there’s nothing wrong with his proposal—there rarely is, to be honest. He got where he is now through hard work and dedication; mistakes aren’t part of his practice and are few and far between. What got to him earlier was Tifa’s blatant disinterest and dismissal; there is no way in hell she got through the documents this fast, and her snappy attitude let him know she must have skimming the text.

The thought swims through his mind as he goes over the fucking proposal he knows is good, and then one more. Her lack of commentary left him anxious and doubting—now that no one else will look it over, he has no choice to do it himself. By seven, his eyes sting and his head hurts; Cloud throws his pen on the desk, staring at his improved proposal for the Loveless campaign—there _were_ things to fix, and he’s glad he went through it before submitting it. But as he goes to email the documents to Mr. Tuesti, Cloud freezes. And instead, he prints it; he puts the proposal in order again and grabs the folder that had fallen to the floor earlier. He doesn’t bother with the papers still strewn all over. Once everything is ready to be presented, he leaves his office and heads for the elevator.

Cloud is more than aware that pettiness is what fuels him as he exits on Tifa Lockhart’s floor. It’s almost empty at this hour, most employees having finished by five. But he knows she leaves late—they’ve crossed paths in the lobby after six often enough—and if she’s gone, he’ll just leave the goddamn file for her to find. Or at least, this is what he intends to do. As he gets closer to her corner of the floor, voices rise—a woman’s and a man’s, both unrecognizable to him. Cloud rounds the corner and stops in his tracks.

He _does_ know one voice, after all—it’s Tifa’s, but it sounds nothing like he what he’s used to. It’s not cold or detached or deadly soft; it’s fiery and annoyed and louder than he’s ever heard. She stands before Yuffie’s desk, a blonde man wearing a suit before her—and to Cloud’s surprise, she looks wary, or maybe even afraid. Still, her voice doesn’t shake as she speaks over the man.

“I _told_ you, already! I’m not doing it.” She goes to move to the side, but the man steps to intercept her. “Would you stop that!”

“Tifa, you know you don’t have a say in this.” The man’s voice is smooth, almost amused, and it makes Cloud frown in apprehension. “How about you accept it’s going to happen?”

“I don’t want to,” she hisses, “and therefore there’s nothing to accept.”

When the man grabs her arm and pulls her closer to whisper something in her ear—something that makes her eyes widen—Cloud doesn’t think twice about his actions; he’s next to them in seconds. She’s the one who sees him first, and this time there’s no denying the panic in her expression.

“What are you doing?” Cloud’s heart beats too fast as he tugs her away from the man; the movement is a little too sharp, making her stumble over her heels, but she regains her balance easily enough. His hand sneaks down her arm to clasp her hand, and he hears the slight hitch in her breath at the gesture. He turns his head towards her; the words that leave him blanket the room in a hush. “You okay, baby?”

Tifa freezes for a second only—a contrast to the blonde man who still and whose features shutter into blankness. She nods and squeezes his hand, playing along. “I’m okay.”

Cloud stares at the man across him; they look similar in a way that makes him irritated, only this man is richer and more assured—and clearly used to getting what he wants.

“Baby?” the man says in a whisper. The quiet and curious tone of his voice is more of a threat than if he had yelled. “Tifa, what’s this? A little something you forgot to mention?”

“The little something is just Tifa’s boyfriend,” Cloud says, speaking loud and clear. “And we’re leaving. Have a good night.”

Before the man can say anything else, Cloud leads Tifa away; he opens the door to her office and shuts it with more force than necessary. She immediately lets go of his hand and strides for the couch, almost bumping into the coffee table. Cloud walks past her and the couch towards the wall of windows, dropping the folder on her desk on the way. It’s dark out now, and the endless lights of the city glitter back at him. His heartbeat is still too fast, too intense, but the sight of a bustling Midgar bathed in darkness helps soothe the crazed rhythm.

The sob that breaks the silence doesn’t surprise him—it’s become obvious by now that Tifa Lockhart isn’t the cold and composed woman she always pretends to be. She’s like him or anyone else—human and filled to the brim with emotions that eventually overflow, drowning their minds. Cloud detaches himself from the window, picking up the box of tissues on the desk before sitting next to her, making sure to keep a certain distance. He extends his hand with the box while staring straight ahead; he gets the impression she wouldn’t want him looking at her right now.

“Tissues?” he says, voice soft and a little awkward.

Tifa stops crying at this; her breathing is a little uneven, a little harsh, but she gets it under control quickly enough. She takes a few tissues without a word and dabs at her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispers after a while.

He drops the box on the table before them. “No problem. You okay for real?”

“No.” She takes a deep breath, crumples the tissues, and throws the ball into the wastebasket next to her desk; it lands next to it, but she doesn’t bother picking it up. Instead, she falls back into the couch. “But I will be. I don’t have a choice,” she adds, chuckling without mirth.

“Who was that?” Cloud leans his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands.

Her sudden stillness tells him he asked something he shouldn’t have—or should have the answer to. Tifa takes her time replying; she goes to run her hand through her hair but stops when she remembers it’s tied in a bun. The gesture has Cloud realize he’s never seen her with her hair down; her proper hairstyles are as part of her work persona as her haughty attitude, and he wonders if the real Tifa would look different.

“That was Rufus Shinra,” she says at last, her voice wary. “I thought you knew.”

The world opens under his feet—god _fucking_ damn it, he just had to piss off the son of Shinra Corp’s President. Cloud rubs his cheek, his headache from earlier returning at once. He doesn’t regret helping Tifa, and part of him knows he would have done it even if he had known who the man was—but the agitation at the possibility of Rufus Shinra making his life hell remains.

“Okay.” Cloud rakes his hand through his hair, messing it up even more; he hopes the casual movement will mask his nervousness. “So, what did he want?”

To his surprise, Tifa laughs; there's a hysterical note to the sound, one that makes him think she’ll cry again. She doesn’t, though—but the panic from before still seeps into her words. “He wants to marry me.” At his silence, she adds, “You know how our families are close. This is what everyone expects.”

“But you don’t want to?” Cloud asks softly.

She snorts and shakes her head. “No. He’s not a good person. That’s…” A pause, only broken by a quiet sigh. “That’d be reason enough even if I wanted to go along with the idea.”

Her phone chimes, then once more after a few seconds. It seems to snap Tifa back into her usual self—the self Cloud now understands must be a lie—and she sits straight, smoothing out the winkles of her skirt.

“You should go home, Mr. Strife. Thank you for helping me out of this.” Her gaze avoids his, settling instead on the folder he left on her desk. “I suppose that’s the new proposal?”

“Ti—Miss Lockhart,” he says, catching on his slip, “that’s not important right no—”

“I’ll look it over.” Her voice is loud enough to drown his. “Thank you for tonight.”

Cloud stares as she stands and walks to her desk; she picks up the file and sits at her chair, leaving him with no apparent choice but to leave. It annoys him a little, sure, but he’s aware this must be her way of protecting herself and the reputation she built—any vulnerability she’s shown him tonight must now be buried and forgotten.

“Alright.” Cloud gets to his feet and walks for the door. He hesitates as he grabs the handle; after a second, he turns his head a little, just enough to spy her from the corner of his eyes. He pretends not to notice how her shoulders droop and how she rests her head in her hands. “Goodnight, Miss Lockhart.”

Leaving doesn’t sit well with him as he makes his way down to his office to grab his belongings. But once in his car and on the road home, he reminds himself this was nothing more than an attempt to help her out of a tight spot. It can end here, tonight and right now. Tomorrow, when he’ll come in for work, he’ll act like he never saw Tifa as she doesn’t want to be seen.

—

Of course, that’s not what fate had in mind, and the next day, Cloud hates that he thought any differently. He’s answering an employee’s question on the floor when he notices the sudden hush settling over the room; the clicking of heels is the only sound for a few seconds, and when he turns around to see Tifa heading his way, there is no surprise to be felt.

“Mr. Strife,” she says as a greeting, her voice as cold as ever, “I need to speak with you.”

There’s no arguing with her tone, and though Cloud wishes he could tell her he’s busy, he doesn’t. He might have yesterday, but not now, not when he figures this has nothing to do with his proposal—she wouldn’t have come down to his floor if it had been the case.

“Of course.” He signals at her to follow him, and they head for his office. As soon as the door is closed, he asks, “What’s up?”

His lack of formality doesn’t seem to shock her. It amuses Cloud because she’s been amongst the many supervisors who lamented his messy hair, his rolled-up sleeves, and loosened tie, not to mention his typical informality when addressing others. And now he knows it’s just another aspect of the front she puts up.

Tifa leans against his desk and grips the edge with both hands as if steeling herself. “I need your help.”

“Alright.” Cloud crosses his arms, resting against the door. “Guessing it’s Rufus?”

Her nods is her only answer for a moment. “He told my Dad I have a boyfriend. And that I refuse to marry him because of said boyfriend.”

Cloud stills as the statement washes over him. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” She blows out a breath. “Oh.”

“So…” Dread pools in his stomach as he trails off.

“I need you to act as my boyfriend,” she says, not hiding her annoyance. “Starting right now.”

“Right _now_?” Cloud frowns at the sudden commotion outside and pushes away from the door.

Tifa eyes the door with plain wariness. “Rufus is on his way. He was asking who you were this morning. Yes or no?” she asks with a desperate edge.

As he noise on the other side of the door escalates and he hears someone asking for him, Cloud feels his world spin—Tifa’s last question echoes in his mind, and he doesn’t have the time to decide before someone knocks on the door.

“Mr. Strife?” It’s his secretary’s voice, sounding more irritated than timid despite who must stand at her side. “Mr. Rufus Shinra here to see you. Apparently.”

Cloud ignores Tifa’s defeated posture as he opens the door, moving aside as Rufus Shinra strides in without invitation. “Thank you, Jessie,” he says with a nod.

“Everything okay?” Jessies leans in to whisper, “I can kick his ass, you know.”

“I’m good, thanks.” His wry expression makes her laugh, but she twists on her heels and goes back to her desk.

“Nice office,” Rufus Shinra says once the door is shut. There’s amusement filling his voice again, like he’s just here to squash a bug, and Cloud figures that’s what he is to him. “A little small, but it’s nice.”

Cloud schools his features to be impassive as he turns around to face him. Tifa hasn’t moved from her spot, and he notes how her grasp on the desk has grown taunt. “What do you want?”

“Listen, Cloud, I admire what you did last night.” Rufus smiles like a predator about to tear into his meal. “Thinking you were coming to Miss Lockhart’s rescue. But—”

What decides for Cloud is Rufus Shinra’s blatant lie—that Cloud only _thought_ he was coming to Tifa’s rescue, like he didn’t notice the fear in her eyes. Before he knows it, he’s spoken over the President’s son. “I came to my girlfriend’s rescue. Now,” he carries on at Rufus’s scoff, “is there anything I can actually help you with?”

Rufus’s smile dims—just a little, but enough to tell of his irritation. He shoves his hands in his pants’ pockets. “You could help me by stopping this joke. Tifa is my fiancée.”

Movement behind Cloud alerts him of Tifa’s approach; she stops at his side, arms crossed over her chest, her features twisted by anger. “I’m not, and you know it.”

“Your father won’t like this, Tifa,” Rufus says, voice deadly soft. “You know what he wants.”

“I don’t give a shit what all of you want.” From up close, Cloud can see the trembling of her hands and how she tries to hide it by tucking them under her elbows and at her sides. “Get the fuck out, Rufus. I’m tired of your bullshit.”

Silence falls between them—the buzz of the floor floats through the closed door, but Cloud barely hears it. He’s too aware of what is happening in his office; of Tifa’s tense form as she holds in her breath, waiting for Rufus to say something; of the President’s son standing still, his smirk frozen on his face; of his own pounding heart as he waits for one of them to crack.

“Fine,” Rufus says after a minute goes by, “if that’s how you want to do this. Then I expect you’ll stop hiding your boy-toy from now on?” He makes for the door but stops before Cloud first. His eyes don’t stray from Cloud as he addresses Tifa. “I’ll see you both at the Company’s Christmas party, then? Together, I suppose, though that’s still a month away." He smiles, slow and wolfish—and Cloud can’t help but roll his eyes. “A lot can happen in a month.”

“We’ll be there,” Cloud snaps. “Hopefully I don’t have to see you until then.”

“I doubt that’ll happen.” Rufus opens the door, halting as he is about to cross onto the floor. “Congratulations, you two,” he says with false cheer. His voice is loud enough to catch people’s attention; a few heads turn their way, and Rufus nods at them with a smile as he walks away.

Cloud doesn’t wait for him to be far before closing the door; he ignores the curious looks from the employees. What he did doesn’t register at first—it’s only when he hears Tifa sigh that it does.

“That’s it, uh?” he says as he faces her. “What’s the deal, then?”

For a while, all Tifa does is stare at him—he notes the gratitude in her eyes, the relief making her shoulders sag. But then, she stands straight, and he fears it’s the return of her usual composed persona until she speaks.

“Thank you so much, Cloud.” She tucks away a strand of hair that escaped her bun, the gesture bashful. “I know this is asking for a lot coming from me.”

Cloud steps forward and past her to stand before the windows, hoping for the serenity to find him again—but it fails him this time. “I think that’s asking a lot from anyone you don’t know.”

“Well, you know more about me than most people in this company,” she says, her voice getting louder as she joins him. “Still… I’m sorry for asking this.”

He holds in the _it’s fine_ about to leave him because it’s not fine, not really. “So, how does this work?”

“We’ll have to make it seem like we’ve been dating for a while, I suppose. To sell what Rufus told my Dad. I don’t want to marry him, Cloud,” she says softly.

Cloud stares at the city, unblinking, letting her words settle over him. He thinks of Rufus Shinra’s smug smile and knowing look—the man is aware they aren’t a couple, and he’ll probably do anything to prove it. But he also thinks of the fear in Tifa’s eyes last night, of the raw sob she let out in her office, of her coming here to ask something so ridiculous of him—all the while knowing he might say no.

“Alright,” he says, making her glance at him.

Her voice is still soft as she asks, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I promise you won’t marry him.”

Tifa only nods, but there’s something more sincere about her silence, and Cloud enjoys it. Below them, the rush of Midgar carries on like the world didn’t change—it’s only his that did, Cloud realizes, and there’s no going back on his word.

He buries his hands in his pockets and gives her a small smirk. “I also kinda want to prove him wrong.”

“You _do_ have a petty streak,” Tifa says, her own smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “You redid your entire proposal to prove a point.”

“It needed improvements, anyway.”

“I’m sorry about that, by the way. He’d been emailing me all day, and I got frustrated. I should have done my job right.”

Cloud shrugs before turning around. “I’ll let it slide this time, _baby_.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Tifa mumbles, frowning.

He ignores her protest and slides into his chair. “What are you going to call me? Honey? Sweetheart?”

“I think I’ll stick to Cloud, thanks,” she says, wryness coating her words.

“Hm, I guess it’ll have to do.” His smirk makes her roll her eyes. “I’ve got work to do, Miss Lockhart, so if you don’t mind…” He gestures at the door.

Tifa stays still for a few seconds as if debating something, but then strides for the door. “Thanks again, Cloud. I’ll email you later so we can meet up.”

“Don’t mention it,” he calls out without looking up from a document.

He waits until she’s left and he’s alone again before sighing and letting his body slump in his chair. An incoming email has him groan, and Cloud scoots his chair closer so he can stay sprawled in it and still access the computer. It’s from Mr. Tuesti—Cloud swears as he realizes he forgot to send the proposal last night. But the email is not what he expected.

_Mr. Strife,_

_Excellent proposal for the Loveless campaign. It came highly recommended by Miss Lockhart as well._

_Keep up the good work,_

_Reeve_

Cloud blinks once, twice, then laughs. Tifa sent the proposal for him, probably aware he’d be too preoccupied to remember it. His chuckle fades as he reads the message again. He’s opened a new email and entered Tifa’s email before he knows it. He keeps it sweet and short.

_Thanks._

_Cloud_

When her answer comes in, a simple _No problem_ , Cloud shakes his head, wondering what the fuck he got himself into. This definitely calls for more coffee; he’s about to get up, but another email from Reeve comes in.

_Rufus Shinra is asking about you. Figured you might want to know. Try not to piss him off._

_Reeve_

Yes, Cloud thinks with a sigh, he’s gonna need a fuckton of coffee.


	2. When we were strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! I wanted to include another section to this chapter, but since I resigned myself to an unknown chapter count, I figured I didn't need to shove everything in there (let's all pretend the chapter count isn't going up...again).
> 
> I hope y'all like this!

—

**WHAT WE PROMISE IN THE DARK**

—

**2**

When we were strangers

—

The building Cloud parks in front of looms over the street; he double-checks the address in his phone before stepping out of the car. His wool coat wards the November chill away as he walks for the building. The keys in his hand seem heavy, and as he goes to unlock the doors, he almost drops them. Cloud swears under his breath—this is ridiculous. He never should have accepted to play Tifa’s boyfriend. Before entering the lobby, he takes a deep breath; she’ll understand why he can’t risk his position at Shinra Corp. Hopefully.

Cloud pretends he knows where he’s going as he strides through the lobby, keeping his gaze forward. Tifa told him how to access her apartment, but he hates walking in a place without prior knowledge of it. It’s only once he’s in the elevator that the tension in his shoulders lessens. The climb to the eleventh floor goes by too fast, and he finds himself in the hall; there are only four apartments on the floor, and Tifa’s is the one facing the elevator. He hesitates for a moment—she gave him a key, but he can’t bring himself to use it for his first visit.

That is until he overhears the faint buzz of voices from inside—and one is distinctly not Tifa’s. The voice rises, still too muted to make out the words, but there’s definite anger to the tone of it, and before he knows it, Cloud has unlocked the door.

“—everything we planned, you…”

The male voice fades as Cloud enters the apartment, doing his best to keep his awe at the size of it discreet. “Tifa?” he calls out. He slides his messenger bag from his shoulder, the loud thump of it to alert them even more to his presence.

Tifa walks out of the room to his left; the annoyance etched in her features tells him none of this can be good. He gets the confirmation when she smiles too widely for it to be genuine.

“Cloud, hey. I didn’t think you were coming tonight.” She gives him a pointed look, indicating he should play along, and Cloud understands why a second later.

Brian Lockhart stands in the doorway of the room Tifa came from, arms crossed and expression thunderous; his glare drills into Cloud, who does the first thing that comes to mind—he smiles and drops a hand to Tifa’s waist, a casually affectionate gesture. When Mr. Lockhart’s glare intensifies, Cloud realizes he acted like her boyfriend even if he had intended to back out.

“Mr. Lockhart,” Cloud says with a nod. “Good to see you.”

For a second, he believes Mr. Lockhart will explode, and there’s an undeniable satisfaction at the idea—but in the end, he only smiles, tight and insincere, and extends his hand in a wordless greeting. Cloud shakes it as expected, dismissing the too-tight grip and the forceful squeeze of the handshake.

“Dad, this is Cloud Strife. You’ve met before but—”

“We have,” Brian Lockhart interrupts. “When he got promoted to Advertising Manager a few months ago.”

Cloud tightens his hold on Tifa’s waist. “Always a pleasure, sir.”

It’s a blatant lie they all see through, but Mr. Lockhart lets it slide with nothing more than a nod. “I didn’t think I’d see you again under these circumstances. Tifa never mentioned you.”

“You know I enjoy keeping my life private.” The chill coating Tifa’s voice is reminiscent of how she carries herself at work.

“There are _details_ that warrant being shared.”

Cloud senses the way Tifa becomes tense at once, the way she folds in on herself—just a little, but it’s enough to let him know she will not say anything in return, as if she’s afraid to. But Mr. Lockhart doesn’t give her time to, anyway; he walks past them and for the closet. As he shrugs on his coat and puts on his shoes, he pays them no mind, like they don’t matter to him—and Cloud is aware he’s the unimportant one, the annoying pest to chase away. The thought doesn’t sting, not exactly; rather, it lights a fire within him to show Brian Lockhart and Rufus Shinra that he’s not easily dismissed.

He slides the hand on Tifa’s waist down to her hip and leans in to whisper in her ear, making sure to speak low enough not to be overheard. Cloud says the first thing that comes to mind—all he wants is to make Mr. Lockhart as uncomfortable as he made his daughter. “Your dad’s a fucking asshole.”

Tifa responds in the best way possible; her eyes widen a fraction out of surprise, and she bites her lip—though he knows she does it to contain her laughter, the reaction seems coy, like he told her something else entirely. Mr. Lockhart scoffs, the sound soft but still loud enough to be caught. His coat buttoned, he stands in the entrance as if expecting something. And Cloud is glad to deliver.

“Have a good evening, sir,” he says with as genuine of a smile as he can muster. “It was nice seeing you again.”

There’s no ignoring the way Brian Lockhart’s hands clench into fists or how he shoves them in his coat’s pockets to hide the display of anger. “You, too. Tifa, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He makes to leave but then swivels to face them again. “Don’t forget the lunch party this Sunday. I expect that both of you will be in attendance now.”

His parting words resound even once the door has shut behind him. They’re both still for a moment as if afraid he’ll walk back in, but then Tifa peels herself away from his side.

“You really pissed him off,” she says with a huff, blowing away a stray strand of hair.

Cloud shrugs. “Was I not supposed to? I didn’t like how he talked to either of us.”

She stares at him for a second too long, and doubt swirls through him until she snorts softly. “No, I loved it. I’m just not sure it’ll work in our favor.” With a wave of her hand, she gestures at the closet. “Come on in for real.”

Once he’s removed his shoes and hung up his coat, Cloud follows her into the living room; he tries to keep his features blank as he takes in the apartment's size—and the blank walls, the cold atmosphere. It’s a representation of the Tifa Lockhart he knows from work and not of the woman who throws herself face down unto one couch. Cloud tilts his head to the side, observing her with amusement; the way she hides her face into a pillow for a few seconds is childish but also endearing in its own way. Tifa sits up, hugging the pillow, and blushes when she realizes he’d been watching her.

“This place doesn’t suit you,” he says to divert the attention away from her. “Well, it suits Shinra Corp you, I guess.”

Tifa waits for him to take a seat on the couch perpendicular to hers before replying; her eyes stay fixed on the floor like she doesn’t want to see his reaction to her words. “I was gifted this apartment.”

“By your father?” Cloud reclines into the sofa; he’s rarely been this comfortable just sitting on a damn couch.

“Not…exactly.” She hesitates before adding, “The building is owned by President Shinra. Rufus offered the apartment to my father, who gave it to me. Some kind of ploy to warm me up to him. I…” She lets out a sigh, shaking her head. “I didn’t realize when I accepted it, but now that I know, I refuse to make it feel like a home.”

He takes in her hunched shoulders and her taut grip on the pillow. “Couldn’t you just leave and go somewhere else?”

“I could,” she says, her voice soft and tired. “But it’d make things even more complicated than they are.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to explain this situation to me.” Cloud waits until she nods, then sits straight. “So, both of your families want you two to marry?”

“We grew up together in a way. Not like friends, but always being shoved together, always being in the same circles. Maybe if I didn’t know him I wouldn’t care,” she says with a chuckle, one without humor. “But I _do_ know him. I know he wants to marry me for the Company and his inheritance.”

Cloud frowns. “And you don’t want to because he’d get reign over the Company or something?”

To his surprise, she laughs—a true laugh like he’s said the funniest thing, and Cloud realizes it’s the first time he’s heard her sound free. “I don’t give a fuck about the Company. I don’t want to marry him for many reasons. It’s just a bonus that it’d get in the way of his plans.” Tifa shrugs a shoulder. “My father doesn’t want me to get the Company because he knows I don’t care for it. I’ve always done what they wanted, but he knows I’ve reached a limit.”

“But he’s used to you agreeing to his demands,” Cloud says, the conclusion easy to reach. “And now that you’re refusing…”

“He’s pushing, yeah. I don’t inherit the Company, but it’s still kept in the family if I marry Rufus. And Rufus gets everything he wants.”

He snorts at this. “The perfect solution for everyone but you.”

“Pretty much.”

“And I’m the solution to _your_ problem.”

She blinks several times and then raises her chin as if in defiance. “Yes.”

They stare at each other, neither of them willing to look away—and Cloud decides if any of them should, it’s him. She’s had enough of being fought on her choices. His eyes stray to the side, towards the windows; the gauzy white drapes allow for some city lights to shine through, and he takes a few seconds to admire them. When he glances at Tifa again and sees her tense posture and unwavering stare, he remembers how he came here to tell her he was backing out. But now— 

“Give me the Tifa Lockhart crash course,” he says instead.

And there’s no regret to be felt after saying the words. Maybe a bit of confusion with his own actions and choices—this whole situation seems more complicated and more ridiculous than it has to be, and he has no real reason to implicate himself. Or perhaps he has one, and it’s to help Tifa Lockhart, something he’d never thought he’d do.

“I’ll do the same after,” Cloud adds when she stays quiet.

Tifa bites her lip as she keeps her stare on him, like she’s expecting him to burst out laughing and tell her he was joking all along. But once it becomes clear he won’t, she throws the pillow aside and moves so her feet are tucked underneath her. He counts it as a small victory that she feels comfortable enough to relax around him.

“I sprung this on you yesterday, but I think you should take the time to think about it.” She looks to the side, then back to him. “I know—”

“Tifa,” he says, loud enough to speak over her. Cloud ignores her glare at the interruption. “I promised you wouldn’t marry him.”

“Yes, but I’m asking a big commitment out of you, and—”

“Do you want my help or not?”

She goes to speak as if reflexively, then shuts her mouth like she thought better of it.

“You do.” Cloud smirks when she rolls her eyes. “You wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

“I can need your help and still feel bad about what I’m asking,” she says quietly. “It’s not an even trade.”

Cloud waves his hand around to dismiss her concern. “We can figure that out, it’s fine. I thought you really wanted this,” he carries on at her indecisive expression. “That I’m the solution to your problem.”

“I do,” she replies, still in that soft voice. “But I was desperate in the moment and I didn’t think this through. It hit me now that I’m being unfair in asking this.”

“So, should I leave?” He waits, watching for any tells, but Tifa Lockhart is too used to guarding herself, and she keeps any outwards reactions locked away. “Fine,” Cloud says as he gets to his feet. “It’s your choice.”

She doesn’t stop him from heading for the entrance or from shrugging on his coat—it’s only as he goes to put on his shoes that he hears her frantic movement in the next room. Cloud turns his head to find her in the doorway to the living room, but when it becomes clear she won’t say anything, he slips his shoes on.

“I’ll see you at the office on Monday, then,” he says with a nod. The keys to her place jingle as he fishes them out of his pocket and hands them to her. Tifa doesn’t take them, so he places them on the table lining the hall. “Have a good night.”

Cloud can’t discern what he feels as he steps out into the hallway and towards the elevator. It all swirls and amalgamates into a mass in his chest, making his heart pound, fast and intense, like something will burst out of him. His hand hangs before the elevator panel as indecision wars with logic—there is no reason to stay now, and yet something about leaving feels wrong. A chime rings out, signaling the arrival of the elevator, and he figures if he needed a sign to leave, this is it.

“Cloud, wait!”

He turns around right as the doors open—Tifa is out in the hallway, crossing the distance between them; the door to her apartment is wide open, and he blinks as he notices she ran out without shoes. She halts, her expression one of shock and apprehension. It’s enough for Cloud to guess who must stand behind him.

“Can you move? I’d like to get off this elevator today.”

Rufus Shinra’s voice sounds too loud in Cloud’s ears, and the amused tone fuels his annoyance. Cloud ignores him, instead walking back towards Tifa, whose eyes stray beyond his shoulder.

“Trouble in paradise already?”

Tifa bites her lip as her gaze settles on him once more, and Cloud doesn’t give her time to speak; he grasps her hand and tugs her towards the apartment. “We’re good,” he calls out without turning around.

“I need to speak with Tifa.” The sound of footsteps gets louder, nearer. “Alone.”

They make it inside the apartment before Rufus can reach them. Cloud smiles too widely as he says, “Then make an appointment with her assistant,” before slamming the door in Rufus Shinra’s face.There’s a sudden silence that falls in the apartment; Cloud releases Tifa’s hand, waiting for her to speak until it’s obvious she won’t.

“Changed your mind?” Cloud stares at the closed door; shutting the door in Rufus’s face was immensely cathartic.

He hears her move and then keys jingling—Tifa comes to stand before him. She grabs his hand and drops the keys in it. “Tomorrow at eleven,” she says, her eyes fixed on his. “We’ll go out to buy you something for Sunday.”

As he pockets the keys, Cloud bites the inside of his cheek to refrain from smirking—there’s something both rude and hilarious about her comment. “Are you implying I don’t have appropriate clothes? What kind of lunch party is it, anyway?”

“If the way you dress at work is any sign, then I doubt you do.” Tifa crosses her arms. “The Board of Directors have these parties with their families every few months. It’s meant to be casual, but nothing is ever truly casual with them.”

“Wait, does that mean Rufus will be there?”

She nods. “And his father and mine and everyone else who wants me to marry him for their own convenience.” At his silence, Tifa sighs and says, “Do you still have time for that Tifa Lockhart crash course?”

“I do on one condition.”

“Which is?” The wariness in her voice is loud, and he hates it a little—hates that she expects everyone wants to take advantage of her.

“I’m gonna need coffee. A lot of it.”

Tifa frowns at his demand. “It’s past six in the evening.” When he doesn’t backtrack, she shakes her head. “I’ll supply the coffee.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

As Cloud discovers throughout that evening, it turns out there’s more to Tifa Lockhart than what she allows people to see. Not that it comes off as a surprise—he’d known for the last days she isn’t as cold and strict and formal as she seems, but still, there’s a kind of wonder at getting to discover who she is.

They trade stories into the night—Tifa is 26, a year younger than him, and hasn’t celebrated her birthday since her mother passed when she was 10. Ever since she was a child, it was assumed she would work for Shinra Corp, and she hadn’t questioned this until she’d sat in her new office and hadn’t felt an once of accomplishment or satisfaction. She played piano for years, but it’s only a casual hobby now; when he asks if she can play something, she blushes, her eyes widen, and she stammers an excuse to avoid giving a proper answer. He tells her about growing up with his mother, about working hard to get a scholarship because they didn’t have enough money for him to go to university. It seems relevant that his ‘girlfriend’ would know he wanted to study Mathematics, but that he decided on what felt like a safe choice. She laughs when he mentions late night spent studying in college, and when he asks _what is so funny_ , she replies with _is that how your coffee addiction started._

By nine, once Cloud has left and is slipping in his car, he figures he knows Tifa Lockhart well enough—better than everyone else at Shinra Corp for sure, and maybe even beyond the workplace.

All the way home, he ignores the tinge of satisfaction at the thought.

—

“I’m not wearing that.”

“I told you already—you can’t wear a flannel and a T-shirt!”

“And _I_ told you before I’m not wearing a fucking polo.”

Tifa’s glare cuts through Cloud, and he can’t help but roll his eyes. She takes her sweet time folding the polo and putting it back on the pile of shirts before moving on to the closest rack of button-up shirts. “ _Fine_. We’ll find something else.” She picks out a light blue one and slaps it against his chest. “Is this suitable?”

Cloud grabs the shirt, making a show of examining it; the annoyance radiating off her is palpable, and he has to contain his smirk. “I guess. Thanks, _baby_.”

Her eyes narrow, though she keeps from commenting. “I’ll find you a sweater to go with that.”

Movement in his peripheral vision alerts Cloud to an incoming saleswoman; he turns his head to avoid making eye contact, but it’s too late, and she stops at their side. “What are we looking for today?”

“We’re good, thank you,” Tifa says without looking up.

The saleswoman’s wide smile stiffens as she spots Tifa. “Miss Lockhart, hi.”

Cloud almost laughs at the exasperation etched in Tifa’s frown and grimace; when she twists around, all traces are gone, and all that’s left is her well-known chilly blankness.

“Long time no see,” the saleswoman adds. “Are you shopping for something in particular?” Her eyes stray to Cloud, curiosity blazing in them.

“Yes.” Tifa lifts a black sweater up before Cloud as if to check if it would suit him. “And like I said, we’re good, Priscilla. I think this will look great with the light blue, _sweetheart_.”

It takes a good amount of restraint for Cloud not to burst out laughing, but he manages to nod like he agrees—he doesn’t give a single fuck, really, but he’s realized this is an occasion where he needs to play along.

“Well, that’ll be all,” Tifa says. Then, to Priscilla, “Can you ring our purchase?”

“Of course.” Priscilla’s wooden smile dims by the slightest amount as she takes the clothes from them and walks to the cash register.

The second she’s far enough not to overhear them, Tifa sighs. “She’s my father’s favorite saleswoman here. Whatever we tell her, she’ll tell him if prompted.”

“Your father has _spies_? What the fuck?” Her glare is back, and he realizes he might have spoken too loudly. “What the fuck?” he repeats in a whisper.

“She’s not a spy. But my father knows how to exploit people.” Tifa rifles through her purse while they head for the counter where Priscilla is. “He’ll make her talk by having her shop for him so she’ll have a big commission.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience.” His wry tone makes her frown, but he doesn’t take the remark back.

Tifa chooses to stay quiet and takes out her wallet the moment they reach the counter; the items are already wrapped in paper and in a bag. He goes to protest her paying for the clothes, but her death grip on her wallet tells him not to. In the car on their way here, Tifa had told him she’d pay considering the circumstances—they’d argued about it until they’d walked into the mall. And though they never settled on who would pay, Cloud knows now isn’t the time to make a scene.

The ambient sound of the store fills the silence between them as Tifa pays. Cloud peeks at the amount and nearly chokes out of shock; he keeps his reaction internal as to not give Priscilla the impression that something might be off.

“There you go.” Priscilla hands them the bag. “The receipt is inside, Miss Lockhart.”

Cloud grabs it, marveling at how light $650 can be. “Thank you.”

“Hopefully we’ll see you soon.” Her smile is again stiff and insincere. “Have a good day.”

“You too,” Tifa says, turning around to walk out of the store.

The detached ring of her voice is a harsh contrast to his ears now that he’s getting used to her true self. Cloud waits until they’re a suitable distance away from the store before speaking.

“That was ridiculously expensive. Tifa,” he carries on when she ignores him, “you shouldn’t have bought that.”

“I’ll buy whatever makes this plan work.” She lifts her chin. “Money is the one thing I don’t have to worry about.”

He opens his mouth to reply but changes his mind and lets it go. An awkwardness blankets them while they walk through the mall. After a while, Cloud realizes they’re not going anywhere—they’ve passed the food court twice already. He glances at Tifa, finding her lost in thought, then around them; a trendy fashion store catches his eye, and he elbows Tifa to snap her out of her daydream. She raises her eyebrows in a silent question.

“Wanna go in?” He points at the store.

“Why?” Despite the dryness of her tone, he catches onto the interest in her eyes. “I’m not looking for anything. I have enough clothes.”

“C’mon, we’re already out. Might as well enjoy it, no?”

Tifa slows down as she hesitates. “I guess…”

“Let’s go,” Cloud says, leaving no room for debate.

She lets out a soft noise of protest when he switches direction and goes towards the store, but he pretends he didn’t hear it in the cacophony of the mall. A few seconds later, Tifa has caught up to him. The mellow music inside the store is a refreshing change; two employees greet them as they enter but leave them alone, and Cloud is grateful for it.

At first, Tifa barely looks at the clothes, like she’s unsure if she even should. The thought that it’s out of consideration for him—that she feels as if she is wasting his time—flashes through his mind, but he waves it away. Still, when her attention snags on a blue dress, he tries to dispel the possibility.

“That’s nice.” Her startled expression makes him chuckle. “Try it on if you like it.”

She tucks away strands of hair that escaped her high bun. “I don’t know.”

“Tifa, you can have fun, you know.”

“Yeah…” Her fingers trail over the satiny material of the dress. “It _is_ nice.”

“Come on.” He nudges her.

“Okay,” she whispers.

After browsing for her size and picking it up, she turns to him; her downcast eyes and red cheek speak of her uncertainty and embarrassment. It tugs at something within him to see her this way, anxious about being herself and bothering him.

“Why do you act that way at the office?” he blurts out.

Tifa stills, the question taking her aback; she goes to put the dress back on the rack, but Cloud snatches it out of her hand before she can.

“I’m sorry for asking suddenly,” he amends, softening his voice. “It’s just…you’re so different there.”

“Because that’s what people expect.” Her words come out sharp; she busies herself by looking at clothes he knows she’s not interested in. “From the start, I was the little princess who didn’t work for what she got. Whenever I was being nice, you all thought I was being fake.”

“That’s not—” Cloud cuts off, aware he was about to lie—he did think the same once in a while.

Tifa moves on to browsing through the dresses on the wall; she picks one seemingly at random, then another. “The only time I had the nerve to complain, someone overheard me and that sealed the deal. I’m the spoiled bitch who got spoon-fed her position.” She smiles but there’s nothing sweet about it. “Try to fight against the expectations of hundreds of people and then tell me it’s easy to be yourself.”

The music switches to something upbeat, getting louder, and Cloud hates how it fills his ears—it sounds wrong for the moment, almost mocking in its cheeriness. He pads closer to Tifa, the blue dress still in hand.

“I’m sorry.” She freezes at his apology, but it doesn’t deter him. “I didn’t like you for your attitude, not your background. But I won’t lie and say it didn’t play a part.” He presents the dress to her, ignoring the distrust in her gaze. “I do like Tifa, though. Miss Lockhart, I’m still not a fan of.”

Neither of them moves, not at first. It’s Tifa who finally drags her stare away from him; without a word, she puts back the random dresses she’d picked, and then takes the blue one from his outstretched hand.

“Alright,” she says, her voice so soft he barely hears it. “I’ll try it on.”

It’s tempting to let out a snarky comment, to say _I told you so_ , but Cloud decides a simple nod is more than enough this time. Tifa is also silent as they get assigned a fitting room; it’s only once she’s walked inside and is about to close the door that she speaks.

“I like being Tifa.” She grips the door handle with too much force, her knuckles turning white. “So thank you for this.”

Cloud blows out a breath when she closes the door before he can reply. Something inside him twists and hurts—the slight pain dissipates too quickly for him to dwell on it beyond acknowledging it spawned from her words. He leans against the wall opposite her door and takes out his phone to scroll through his emails and messages. There are a few work-related ones he ignores, and some texts from his friend being his usual idiot self. Cloud laughs at the picture Zack sent—of himself looking hungover as hell with a cup of coffee; below the photo is the message _Your fucking miracle juice better work._

“What’s so funny?”

Tifa’s voice has him raise his head, and as he goes to answer her, he freezes. The satin of the dress wraps perfectly over her curves, and the neckline isn’t plunging but still more revealing than what she usually wears—but it’s the stark contrast of the fluidity of the dress with her typical sharp suits that claws at him and digs in his lungs. The hemline falls right above her knees and the long, loose sleeves make the outfit still work-appropriate, though he knows she’ll never wear that to the office.

Ever since he met her three years ago, Cloud has known Tifa to be beautiful—he’d be blind not to see it—but the indifference mixed with dislike that he felt for so long veiled his initial attraction. But now, in a different setting and with Tifa looking much more like _herself_ and not her Shinra-self, he finds it hard to deny the pull he feels, and yet—

“My friend is being dumb,” he replies, keeping his voice casual. The hard rhythm of his heartbeat makes it difficult, though, and he looks down at his phone and at Zack’s stupid face to mask his agitation. He hears her movement and lifts his gaze to find her observing her reflection. “The dress looks great,” he adds, unable to stay quiet about it.

“Oh. Thanks.” Tifa doesn’t meet his eyes in the mirror. “But I won't get it.”

That catches his attention. “Why not?” Cloud pockets his phone. “You don’t like it?”

“No, I do, but… I won’t get to wear it.”

“You can wear it tomorrow. We’ll even match like a sappy couple.” It strikes him as ridiculous that he would insist, only there’s something even more ridiculous about her not getting the dress for such a reason.

Tifa lets out a snort. “No way. It’s fine, though,” she says, the lie evident to both of them. “I don’t need it.”

Cloud watches as she goes back into the stall; his phone beeps with an incoming message, but he dismisses it, instead walking up to the door. “Hand me the dress, I’ll go put it back.”

A note of confusion colors her voice as she says, “I can leave it on the rack.”

“I worked retail for years, so I prefer doing what I can to help the employees.”

“Alright, then.” She drapes the dress over the top of the door, the hanger almost falling to the floor. “There you go.”

“Thanks.”

Cloud takes the dress and hurries away; the employee at the cash register gives him her customer service smile. “That’ll be all?”

“Yeah.” He takes out his wallet. “How much?” he asks while glancing towards the fitting room, glad to see Tifa hasn’t come out yet.

“It’ll be a hundred and twenty-two.”

He pays, only relaxing once the cashier hands him the bill and the bag; he thanks her before twisting back towards the fitting room. Tifa exits right as he stops at the entrance—Cloud bites the inside of his cheek at the way her eyes widen and her mouth drops a little out of surprise.

“You’re easy to fool,” he says, extending the bag with the dress to her. She doesn’t move, doesn’t reach for it. “Take the fucking dress, Tifa.”

“But—”

With a sigh, Cloud steps closer. “It’s a gift,” he adds, gently this time. “So you can be yourself more.”

“I…” She gulps, her overt hesitancy warring with something within her. When she takes the bag from him, he almost shouts in victory. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Tifa doesn’t mention it for the remainder of their outing, and neither does he. It feels safer not to—otherwise he’ll enter an endless labyrinth of maybe’s and what-if’s with no exit and no right answer to anything, and then who knows if he’ll find his way home again.

But as he drops her home and she thanks him again with a smile, Cloud realizes that’s all he wanted—to see her real smile—and he wonders if he didn’t step into that maze already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I can write cute stuff! Kinda. I guess.
> 
> Come scream at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sk_evans)!


	3. When we were allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! I hope you're all doing well!
> 
> Short life update: I have been and still am dealing with some health issues, hence the lack of activity and updates. That said, I'm trying to get back into the groove of things, though I don't think I'll be performing at my usual rhythm for another month or two; thank you for understanding!
> 
> Please enjoy the chapter!

**—**

**WHAT WE PROMISE IN THE DARK**

—

**3**

When we were allies

—

“We’re _late_.”

Cloud takes a peek at his watch—12:02. “Barely. And anyway, the later we are, the less time we spend with them.”

“That’s—”

“The truth and you know it.” Cloud allows himself a slight smirk at Tifa’s obvious annoyance. “We’re close. Slow down.”

To his surprise, she waits until he catches up in order to match his pace. Her light gray wool coat hides what she’s wearing, and Cloud can’t help but wonder if she decided on the blue dress or not. It’s tempting to ask, but he refrains; he’ll know soon enough. Instead, he focuses on what they’re about to face—the thought of this lunch makes him a little queasy, though he does his best not to let it show in front of Tifa; she doesn’t need the added stress. He can only hope the show they put on today will be strong enough to convince the people in attendance.

As they are about to round the corner, Cloud notices the distance between Tifa and him; they can’t look like a couple walking so far apart.

“Hey, wait.” He grabs her arm, pulling her closer; she halts in surprise, and Cloud steers them to the side so they don’t block the way. “That’s better.” He tries to look serious as he adds, “Should I hold your hand?”

Tifa blinks several times, like she didn’t understand what he said. “What?”

“So we look the part?” Cloud takes her hand in his and lifts them up. “You know we’re supposed to be dating, right?”

“Oh, that.” She shakes her head but doesn’t pull her hand back. “I’m sorry, I’m just… nervous.”

“Alright. So holding your hand is fine. What else?”

She bites her lip, her teeth dragging over it before letting go, and his eyes stray down for a second too long; Tifa doesn’t notice, too lost to her thoughts.

“Casual touches,” she says after a long pause. “Whatever’s appropriate in the context of the situation. I trust your judgment, if you trust mine.”

He nods once, twice. “What about, uh—” Cloud hates that he feels like a teenager for asking this. “I just want to be sure about this—can I kiss you if the situation calls for it?”

“I mean…” Tifa looks over his shoulder like she can’t quite meet his eyes. “If it comes to that, yes, but I don’t think it will.”

“Me neither, but just in case.” Shyness surges through him; the situation with Tifa is so different from anything he’s ever known. Navigating it is like stumbling in the dark, like being thrown 10 years into the past. “Alright, let’s go.” But Tifa doesn’t budge, even when he tugs her closer by the hold on her hand. “What’s up?”

Her gaze drifts to his, and he can’t dismiss the nervousness he finds there. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

“Which part?” His dry tone only elicits a frown. “Tifa,” he sighs, turning so he can face her, “this lunch is gonna suck—no doubt about that. So we can only do our best.”

“I’m a little scared,” she whispers, so low he barely catches it.

“Of what?”

There’s a second where Cloud thinks she’ll cry, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “I’m gonna freeze up, I know I will. With my Dad, I mean. It’s difficult for me to go against him, and I’m so used to—” She cuts off, as if she is unable to continue.

Cloud wonders if she stops herself from speaking the words because they would crystalize into a truth she would have no choice but to accept. “Hey, listen. I know this is a weird situation we find ourselves in. But it also means you’re not alone in this.” He bends forward a bit to catch her straying gaze. “I’ll be backing you up.”

“No, I know that,” she says softly, “and I want to stand up to them. But I’m—I’m afraid of being afraid, if that makes sense. I’m in this situation because of this. Just always agreeing and obeying and…” She trails off, her expression suddenly one of determination. Her hand slips out of his. “You know what?”

“Not really,” Cloud replies as he shoves his free hand in his coat’s pocket. It feels cold now that she let go.

Tifa reaches out behind her head and starts pulling out pins; she puts them away in her handbag. “Gotta start somewhere.”

When she takes out the scrunchie holding her bun and her hair cascades down her back, Cloud stares. He knows he is, and he knows he must look ridiculous, his surprise and awe etched all over his features, but he doesn’t care. Tifa’s hair is a long curtain of darkness that falls down to the small of her back; a slight wave runs through the locks from being tied up. She combs through the strands, throwing the mass of hair over her shoulder once she’s done. He’s still staring by then, but goddamn it, he _can’t_ help it. Tifa has always tied up her hair—he’s pretty sure no one at the office has ever seen her with her hair down. And it’s not that she let it down that surprised Cloud—it’s how the waist length clashes with everything he’s ever known about her. Or rather, everything he’s ever known about Miss Lockhart. Cloud blinks his shock away before she turns to him—the realization that she plans on attending the lunch party as Tifa instead of Miss Lockhart makes his chest tighten. It just gets worse when she smiles at him.

“Okay, I’m ready now.”

Tifa extends her hand, and it takes him a few seconds to react; Cloud slips his hand in hers, and they resume walking. He wants to say something, anything—tell her she looks freer with her hair down maybe, or that she’s so much more than the expectations she’s been bearing her entire life. But in the end, Cloud says nothing because it’s both too much and not enough—the right words escape him as they often do.

They cross the lobby of the luxury apartment complex, Tifa leading them to the elevator. A flash of blond hair to their right makes Cloud mumble a curse, catching Tifa’s attention; her lips pinch together as she spots Rufus in turn.

“About time,” Rufus drawls as he pushes away from the wall.

Cloud smiles, too wide and too bright for it to be genuine. “Took a while to find a parking spot.” It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either, and they all know it.

Next to him, Tifa pushes the button for the elevator, looking straight ahead and ignoring Rufus. It takes no time for the doors to open, and all three of them walk inside; Cloud refrains from laughing as Tifa positions herself against the wall so he has no choice but to stand in the middle, with Rufus on his other side.

“Aren’t you going to say ‘hello’ at least?” Rufus turns to them, a slight smirk curling his lips. “That’s awfully impolite.”

“I don’t care,” Tifa says, still refusing to glance his way.

“Are you going to act like a brat the whole time?”

His comment makes her frown a little, but she smooths away the display of emotion. “Maybe I just don’t enjoy talking to you.”

Cloud glances up at the numbers above the door, wishing for the elevator to reach its floor faster.

With a snort, Rufus leans forward to look at Tifa. “That’s gonna make for a boring marriage, no?”

Her hand tightens in Cloud’s, and he knows she’s gathering her courage; she takes a deep breath and says, “For the last time, I’m not marrying you.”

The doors open before Rufus can reply, and Cloud thanks the heavens; without a word, he exits the elevator, pulling Tifa along.

“The door to the right,” she whispers to guide him.

The plush carpet mutes the sound of their footsteps, and the hall seems eerily silent as they get to the right apartment.

“Your boytoy’s quiet today.” Rufus’s voice comes from behind them. “He could at least put on a show.”

Right as Tifa goes to open the door, Cloud stops in his tracks; the urge to turn around and snap at Rufus is strong, but he dampens it, not wanting to give him what he wants. Instead, he twists his head a little, just enough to see Rufus and take in his amused expression.

“I don’t need to,” Cloud says, keeping his tone calm.

He dismisses the answering chuckle, turning so he can head inside with Tifa. No one stands in the entrance to greet them, and Cloud is glad for it; he’s aware his annoyance must be visible, and he needs a few seconds to will it away. Rufus shuts the door behind them. Footsteps coming their way force Cloud to regain his composure; he focuses on shrugging off his coat to avoid looking at who is coming to greet them.

“Tifa, it’s been a while.” The voice undoubtedly belongs to Scarlet, one of the Board members—and someone Cloud does everything to avoid like the plague. “Is this the famous boyfriend?”

He folds his coat over his arm and musters a smile before lifting his head. “Good to see you again. I’m Cloud Strife.”

Scarlet tilts her head as if inspecting him; it’s all for show to make him uncomfortable. Cloud meets her gaze head-on. “Advertising, right?” she says after a beat of silence.

Tifa extends a hanger for his coat. “That’s right.” Her voice rings clear, steady; it makes Cloud a little proud to see her like this. “How have you been, Scarlet?”

While they chat, Cloud hangs up his coat, keeping an eye on Brian Lockhart as he approaches them. Brian doesn’t seem happy as he stares at his daughter, then at Cloud, who nods in greeting. It takes a moment for Brian to return the gesture.

“That’s a nice dress,” Scarlet says, her tone conveying the opposite.

Cloud turns slightly at this and blinks several times to hide his surprise—Tifa did wear the dress he bought her. The light blue is a harsh contrast against the darkness of her hair, something that wasn’t so apparent at the store, and the satin hugs her curves in the softest way possible. He grabs her coat to hang it up so he has an excuse to look away—though he’d told her to wear it, he hadn’t expected she would. For some reason, this feels like a victory, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

“Isn’t it?” Tifa smooths the material over her abdomen. “Cloud bought it for me.”

“It’s not often we see you with your hair down, too.”

Tifa smiles at Scarlet, but there is nothing genuine about it. “Felt like a change.”

“Yes, we’ve all noticed that,” Rufus says as he brushes past them. “Come on in, already. We’ve been waiting for a while.”

Scarlet and him recede into a room, and the buzz of voices rises, a reminder there are more people to fool. For his part, Brian Lockhart stays where he stands, arms crossed and frowning; he waits until Tifa leads Cloud towards him before speaking.

“It’s not like you to be late.”

“I don’t control the Midgar traffic, Dad.” Sweetness coats her voice.

It’s clear Brian wants to add something, but she doesn’t give him the time, tugging on Cloud’s hand and walking into the room full of people. A quick glance reveals most of the Board members are present—President Shinra included. The man in question sits in an armchair, looking a peculiar mix of bored and satisfied; across him on the couch are Rufus and a woman Cloud has never seen before. His eyes meet the President’s for a moment—the dismissal in Shinra’s gaze almost makes Cloud snort, but he nods instead, plastering on a polite smile.

“This is gonna fucking suck,” he whispers in Tifa’s ear.

She turns her head to look at him. “At least I pissed them off already.” The beginning of a smile threatens to unfurl, but she bites her lip to rein it in. “Come on, let’s make the rounds.”

Cloud lets out a groan. “Can’t we hide in a corner?”

As an answer, she heads for the closest group of people, giving him no choice but to follow. Tifa introduces him to everyone in attendance, entertaining the conversation for a few minutes each time, then walking up to someone else; she doesn’t give them any time to dig deep into the question of their relationship. Cloud plays along, growing more and more bored with the fake interest in who he is; all these people know him, either through work or because of his role as an obstacle in their plans.

After a while, Tifa steers them towards the table with food. Cloud takes in the ridiculous amount, all catered; there’s no way this small crowd will eat it all. They fill their plates and go sit on a couch. Their proximity to President Shinra twists Cloud’s stomach, even if all his attention is focused on other people.

“We haven’t gone to see him yet,” Cloud says, keeping his voice low.

“Oh, I know.”

He raises his eyebrows in a silent question, but Tifa’s expression is all innocence as she takes a bite of a tea sandwich. “You did it on purpose.”

Tifa picks up her glass and takes a sip; she leans into his space as if sharing a secret, and while he’s aware her nearness is for show, it still makes his pulse drum faster.

“He deserves to stew a little, no? We’ll go see him once—”

“Care to share what’s so important?”

Rufus’s voice resonates in the room, hushing the people in attendance. It takes Cloud a second to realize the question is addressed to Tifa and him; he straightens, feeling the weight of all their stares. Next to him, Tifa doesn’t appear fazed, though he can see signs of discomfort being so close—her breathing gets a little faster and her grip on her glass tightens.

“All this secrecy makes us curious,” Rufus adds with a sly smile. There’s nothing subtle about what he’s doing, and no one seems surprised; some conversations start anew in low tones, but everyone keeps their attention on the scene.

The shift in Tifa happens quickly, subtly; her chin lowers and her body tenses. And sure enough, as Cloud looks across them, he finds Brian Lockhart staring them down with a neutral expression—but the scrutiny alone is enough to bear down on Tifa.

“I was just telling Tifa about a music show coming up.” Cloud picks up his glass, needing to busy himself to stop from fidgeting; he can only hope his casual delivery is good enough. “Didn’t think it would interest anyone else,” he adds with a shrug.

“A music show?” Rufus echoes, like he doesn’t believe it.

Cloud nods, glad the first thing that came to mind isn’t a complete lie. “I have a friend who’s performing next week.”

Though it’s clear no one believes him—Rufus most of all—the attention seems to have shifted away from them as if the people grew bored; Cloud peeks at Brian, finding him in discussion with Scarlet.

“Thank you.” Tifa’s voice is low, almost drowned out in the noise of the room. “I knew I would…”

Cloud tears his attention away from Brian to look at her; nothing about her demeanor betrays her emotions, like she slipped on her Miss Lockhart mask. For a moment, he isn’t sure what to say—the change is so sudden, so absolute that it strikes him as almost comical. But there is nothing funny about this, and Cloud knows it.

“Told you I’d back you up,” he says just as quietly.

She nods in acknowledgment, a gesture befitting of her work-self. Cloud would believe her to be this unaffected if he wasn’t so close—the shine of her eyes is enough to give her away, but so does the way her shoulders drop, as if his words lifted a terrible weight. It’s difficult to say what makes the anger rise within him; the whole lunch party is a pain for sure, but there’s more to it—something that goes beyond the standard annoyance for the situation, something that feels almost personal.

“Tifa.”

The voice is unmistakable in its authority, and Cloud abstains from sighing in dismay—though it was impossible for them to avoid President Shinra today, he had still dared to hope a little.

Tifa stands and places her plate on the closest side table; she doesn’t need to say anything for Cloud to mimic her actions. They cross the short distance separating them from the Shinra’s and the blond woman busying herself on her phone. To Cloud’s horror, he realizes the only two available seats are next to Rufus and next to the President—Tifa saves him the trouble of making an impossible choice by sitting next to President Shinra.

“How have you been, sir?” she asks with a slight smile.

President Shinra doesn’t look at her—his eyes stay on Cloud taking his seat. “I’ve been better.”

The meaning is clear and pretending not to understand would be futile. Still, Cloud says nothing; he only shifts so he can lean against the arm of the couch—and as far from Rufus as possible.

Luckily for them both, Tifa is used to these conversations. Her frown conveys enough concern to feel genuine, though Cloud doubts it is. “Is it your leg again? I know it was giving you trouble earlier in the year.”

Rufus snorts. “Seriously?”

“Well, some of us do have empathy,” Tifa says with too much sweetness.

“My leg has been giving me some trouble, true.” President Shinra sends his son a warning glare. “Thank you for asking, Tifa.”

The sparkle of victory in her eyes doesn’t go unnoticed—Cloud allows himself a tiny smirk while Rufus rolls his eyes, muttering something that sounds a lot like _bullshit_. But Cloud’s smirk vanishes when President Shinra turns to him.

“Brian tells me you’re an Advertising Manager? Under Reeve, correct?” President Shinra doesn’t give him time to confirm. “I remember hearing about you from him.”

The interest in his voice doesn’t go past Cloud, but he holds no illusion about its nature—it feels more like a threat than anything else.

“Mr Tuesti has been a great mentor,” Cloud says with an amiable smile.

“Yes, it seems so.” The President leans back into the cushions; his stare moves from Cloud to Tifa, then back to Cloud. The look is too deliberate to be meaningless. “You’ve risen through the ranks rather quickly.”

Next to the President, Tifa stiffens; it takes Cloud a second to catch on, and when he does, he finds himself speechless—but mostly filled with anger again. It’s one thing for his integrity to be questioned—these people don’t know him, but more importantly, they don’t want him here. From the beginning, Cloud had been aware today would be unpleasant for a myriad of reasons. But implying Tifa helped in getting him the promotion because of their so-called relationship—Cloud can’t keep quiet about that.

“Yes, I worked hard to get where I am.” Though his voice is soft, there is no disguising his temper. Tifa lifts her head as if aware he’ll blurt out something he shouldn’t, but he keeps his stare on President Shinra. “But no one works harder than Tifa.”

“Oh?” There is no longer any semblance of genuine interest from President Shinra. He smiles as if amused, but there’s a cruelty to it that kindles Cloud’s outrage. “Is that so?”

The words are meant as a taunt for Cloud to fight back. It’s tempting—it really is—but that would mean playing Shinra’s fucking game, and there’s no way in hell that’ll happen; it’d give the President—and all those in attendance—way too much satisfaction.

Cloud stands and reaches out for Tifa’s hand as he looks at the President. “Yeah, maybe you’d know if you gave a shit.” He tugs on Tifa’s hand so she follows him, and to his relief, she doesn’t resist, getting to her feet. “It was a _pleasure_ , sir.”

As they cross the room towards the hallway, the music seems too loud to Cloud; it’s only as they’ve exited the room that he realizes everyone had been eavesdropping. Their silence hadn’t registered in the moment; his anger had blinded him to his surroundings. He heads for the entrance on autopilot but halts before they get to the closet with their coats.

“Do you want to stay?” he asks as he turns to face Tifa.

Cloud had been expecting her to be in full Miss Lockhart mode, an obvious defense against the people in the other room. But there is no trace of the cold, composed woman he knows from work—Tifa looks on the verge of tears, though she keeps them at bay.

She looks to the side, then back to him as she asks, “You would if I wanted to?”

He wants nothing more than to walk out of this fucking place, but there’s something about taking away the choice from her that feels _wrong_ , even more so after the conversation with President Shinra.

He nods.

Tifa stays still, like she’s waiting—waiting for him to take back his words maybe, or for him to fight her on this. It’s what compels him to add, “You choose.”

She twists to glance at the hall; no one came after them, but Cloud knows it won’t last. When Tifa faces him again, she looks both determined and like she’ll cry at any second.

“We’re leaving,” she says.

Cloud walks to the closet as soon as the words leave her; he grabs both of their coats and her handbag right as footsteps get closer. Before whoever followed them can speak, he opens the door and pulls Tifa out of the apartment; he lets the door fall shut on its own, and the resulting slam feels entirely too satisfying.

By some miracle, the elevator is already on their floor, and they get in without someone coming after them. Tifa stays silent as Cloud gives her coat. Though he wants to say something to her, he gets the impression now is not the time. In his chest, his heart beats too fast and too loud as his actions catch up to him; the odds of him keeping his job after this are slim, but he can’t bring himself to regret it, not right now. Maybe he will tonight or tomorrow, but he’ll deal with that when the time comes.

When the elevator doors open in the lobby, Cloud grips Tifa’s hand again and leads her out into the street. He knows there is no need for him to do it now; there’s no one to convince in the immediate vicinity. And yet, it feels like the only support he can grant her for now—a reminder she’s not shouldering this alone anymore.

Her phone rings as they reach his car, and they both tense at the sound.

“It’s Dad’s ringtone,” she says. Her free hand dips into her pocket to get the phone, the gesture more reflexive than anything else.

“Don’t.” Tifa glances up in surprise, and damn it, there are those unshed tears again. “Don’t answer,” he says, aware he sounds a little rough. “You know what’ll happen if you do.”

They both do—she’ll feel guilty and fall in line again, the obedient daughter with no goals of her own. The phone goes silent, and Tifa’s hand drops back to her side—but then it rings again. It’s a different tune, and Tifa’s defeated expression tells him the caller must have been at the lunch party.

“Do you want me to take you home?” he asks softly.

It seems like the most harmless question, and yet it’s the final straw for Tifa; a few tears escape as she shakes her head, but she wipes them away at once. Cloud chastises himself—of course she wouldn’t want to return to a place that was gifted to her by the same people they ran from.

“Alright,” he says as he opens the passenger’s door, “that was a stupid question. Come on, we’ll decide on the road.”

Tifa ducks inside without a word, and seconds later, they’ve merged into the daily Midgar traffic. Cloud drums a mindless rhythm on the steering wheel, the only sound beyond the usual noise of the city. When Tifa’s phone rings for the third time, she rips it out of her pocket, and he’s surprised she doesn’t throw it out of the window. Instead, the tune cuts off like she declined the call; she puts the phone away.

“I’m sorry for today,” Tifa says, looking at the city passing them by.

“Don’t apologize.” It’s the way she says the words that gets to Cloud—like she believes there is a need for it. The anger that simmered throughout the lunch party surges at once, and he can’t hide it well enough. But when Tifa whirls to stare at him, he realizes he doesn’t _want_ to hide it. “You did nothing wrong, and you’re not responsible for their actions. The way they treat you…” He trails off, not because he ran out of things to say, but because he noticed her shocked expression from the corner of his eyes. “What?”

His curt tone doesn’t appear to bother her—Cloud’s not even sure she heard him, really, not with the silence that follows.

“You don’t deserve this, Tifa,” he adds as they stop at a red light. “Don’t let them get into your head.”

“I know.” The softness in her voice betrays her vulnerability in a way that stings—she sounds tired more than anything, like she repeated those words to herself too many times.

The light turns green as Cloud goes to answer, and he focuses on the road again. Tifa keeps quiet; he takes it as the signal it is and lets the topic drop despite his frustration. He’s not sure where he’s going until he recognizes the coffee shop close to his apartment—and spots the empty parking spot right in front of it. Not thinking twice, he maneuvers into the space.

“You want anything?”

Tifa shakes her head, still looking out of the window, and he holds in his sigh before stepping out of the car. There is no line-up inside, only one person already paying for their order. He scans the menu despite knowing what he’ll order, but the cashier greets him before he gets the time to read all the selections of drinks.

Cloud steps up to the counter with one last fleeting look at the menu. “Can you help me choose a drink?”

The cashier frowns as if confused. “You don’t want the usual?”

It almost makes him laugh that she recognizes him so easily—maybe it’s a sign he needs to cut back on the coffee. Maybe.

“It’s not for me.” She nods, indicating he should go on. “Something that’s sweet. But not too much.”

“Okay.” The way she draws out the last syllable is teasing; she smoothes her expression into pure innocence when he gives her a _really?_ look. “Caffeinated?”

Cloud can barely believe this is a question. “Yeah.”

The cashier nods a few times like she’s reviewing options in her head. “Hot or cold?”

“Hot,” he says without hesitation. There’s something about holding a drink and feeling the warmth seep through his hands that is soothing to Cloud, and he can only hope it’ll be the same for Tifa.

“Alright, I got an idea.” The cashier inputs something on her computer. “Want me to run it by you first?”

“I’m good, I trust your choice.” Cloud drops his eyes to her name tag. “Thanks, Aerith.”

She winks at him. “Biggest cup of our strongest brew for you?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs when she stage-whispers _boring_.

As he waits for the order, Cloud stares at the counter with sugar packets and milk options—should he grab some just in case? He guessed Tifa would prefer a sweeter drink, but had also played it safe by not going for something too sugary. Annoyed at his indecision, Cloud grabs two packets of sugar and shoves them in his coat’s pocket.

“You said ‘not too sweet’.” Aerith’s amused drawl makes him turn around; she’s putting the two drinks into a cardboard tray.

“I just want to make sure,” Cloud mumbles as he walks towards her.

“So _cute_. If they ask, it’s called a Dirty Chai. See you soon!” She goes back to the cash before he can protest her first comment.

“Thanks,” he calls out as he heads for the door.

Aerith gives him a thumbs up and wiggles her eyebrows, and he pretends not to notice. He steps out, swearing under his breath at the gust of wind. As he gets in the car, he’s glad to see Tifa appears in a better mood—and that she didn’t retreat into her Miss Lockhart shell. She even smiles when she takes in the two cups.

“Were you going through a coffee withdrawal?” Her voice lacks the teasing quality expected for her question, and he realizes she’s not feeling better—she’s just pretending to.

Cloud takes a second to find which cup is hers and then extends it to her. While he wasn’t sure how she’d react, he hadn’t anticipated her smile vanishing. “It’s called a Dirty Chai,” he says, keeping his eyes on hers.

There’s a beat where he thinks she won’t accept it—her silence lasts for too long and her hesitation is too obvious. But then she takes the drink, immediately wrapping both hands around it, and satisfaction swells inside him; he was on the right path by getting a hot drink. She takes a careful sip, and Cloud waits for the verdict, his pulse drumming a little too fast.

“It’s really good.” Tifa smiles, and this time there’s no doubt it’s real. “Thank you.”

“I got some sugar in case.”

She shakes her head, then tucks away strands of hair that fell over her eyes. “It’s perfect.”

The satisfaction rises again and mixes in with relief. He’s not sure what to say suddenly, so he nods and takes a gulp of his own coffee, holding in a wince as the too-hot liquid scalds his tongue.

“Ready to go home?” he asks after a minute. Though he can guess her answer, he figures asking her is the least he can do.

“Honestly?” Tifa takes a deep breath. “No. Either Rufus or my Dad will show up there at some point.” There’s no need for her to say she doesn’t want to see them. “I’ll go shopping to kill time, I guess,” she says with a half-hearted shrug.

Cloud places his drink in the cup holder and falls back into his seat. “We’re near my place.” It’s his turn to shrug when she turns to him. “I have chores to do, but you can hang out there until you’re ready to go back. There’s a park close-by if you wanna walk around, too.”

“I wouldn’t want to…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, instead focusing a little too intently on the drink in her hands.

Perhaps it’s because he’s seen firsthand how choices can be ripped away from her, how people assume her life is theirs to dictate, but Cloud is keenly aware he shouldn’t influence her decision. And yet, as he watches her fold unto herself, he feels an urgent need to reassure her she won’t be imposing—that she’s welcome, if only because she needs a place to stay for a few hours. But Cloud can admit to himself he’s also offering because he doesn’t want her so anxious and disheartened, wandering the city to avoid a place she hates to call home—if he can offer any kind of haven, any kind of safety, then he’ll do it.

“Tifa.” She lifts her head, and he notes the hesitancy in her eyes. “Do they have access to your apartment?” Her flinch, though slight, is telling enough; it only hardens his determination. “Your Dad?”

She peels off the edges of the cardboard sleeve around her cup, looking at everything but him. “Yes.”

It takes a lot of restraint out of Cloud not to swear, so he takes another burning gulp of coffee as a distraction. “Is there somewhere you want me to drop you off?”

To his surprise, Tifa lets out a short laugh. It’s not a pretty sound; it’s a mocking laugh, full of frustration. Cloud knows it’s not directed at him, not from the way she blinks back tears he’d thought gone.

“I wish I had somewhere to go,” she says. “I have no friends at work, and everyone in my social circle would sell me out to Rufus.” She laughs again, and this time there’s an angry edge to it. “I’m sick of this.”

Cloud gives her moment, waiting to see what she’ll say, but it quickly becomes clear she’s done. When he starts the car and pulls away from the curb, Tifa doesn’t ask questions and he doesn’t offer an explanation. The atmosphere between them is stilted for the remaining drive—Cloud lets it be until he parks along his street. He steps out and Tifa follows after a few seconds; still, she says nothing, even as he stops before a door on the ground floor of a quadruplex.

“Are you allergic to cats?” he asks as he takes out his keys.

As it becomes obvious he won’t open the door until she answers, Tifa clears her throat. “Uh, no.”

“Good. He’s stupidly clingy.” Cloud opens the door only a bit, putting his foot forward to ward off the cat who comes running and meowing as anticipated. “Fuck off,” he mutters, doing his best to push him back without stepping on his tail. The cat lets out a yowl as if offended but finally allows them to get inside.

Cloud puts down his cup on the small table lining the entrance hall, throwing his keys next to it. Next to him, Tifa is still, holding on to her drink with both hands. Though he could tell her she’s welcome, she’s fine, she can make herself at home, Cloud doesn’t; he wouldn’t be lying if he did, far from it. But there are times where actions can mean so much more than brittle words that are easily twisted and dismissed.

He shrugs off his coat and removes his shoes, kicking them in a corner with little care; his coat ends up on the back of the couch, a decision he knows he’ll come to regret once the cat sits on it. Cloud heads for the kitchen, doing his best not to trip as the cat follows him and gets in his way, rubbing against his legs and swerving between his feet.

“He _is_ clingy.”

Cloud bites his lip to hide his smile as Tifa joins him in the kitchen, her coat and boots discarded in a similar manner to his, and her handbag resting on the entrance table. The sense of victory is sweet, but also a little intoxicating. Tifa stares at the cat, wistfulness etches in her features. The cat stares right back, his tail swishing behind him.

“Careful, he locked on to you,” Cloud says, leaning against the counter.

“Is that bad?”

As if on cue, the cat pads towards her and sits right at her feet. Tifa throws Cloud a wary glance, unsure what to expect, and this time he allows his smile to unfurl.

“If you pet him now, he’ll follow you the whole time you’re here.”

Her wariness melts into something closer to amusement. “You should have said all he wanted was cuddles.” Tifa crouches and extends her hand, allowing the cat a moment to get used to her; she chuckles when he immediately bumps his head against her palm. It only takes seconds for him to purr when she scratches him behind the ears. “What’s his name?”

“The cat,” Cloud says, crossing his arms. She looks at him as if waiting for the punchline. “He occasionally answers to ‘little shit’, though.”

Tifa stops her ear scratches as she realizes he’s not kidding. “What kind of name is that?”

“The one he got when he knocked over my laptop.” Cloud walks past her, heading for the back of the apartment.

Footsteps echo behind him. “But did he _break_ the laptop?”

Cloud twists his head to look at her but stops in his track when he sees Tifa holding the cat in her arms. He sighs. “Two minutes and he’s already got you wrapped around his little finger.”

As he enters his bedroom, he hears her say, “Technically, it would be his paw.” She stops in the doorway, and the cat wriggles out of her hold. “What do you need to do? I can help.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Cloud gestures in the general direction of the living room. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“But—” She cuts off when he frowns, and it’s her turn to scowl at him. “Fine.” The cat reappears, an expectant glint in his eyes as he stares up at Tifa and then follows her when she twists on her heels.

“The little shit needs cuddles if you’re bored,” Cloud calls out after her. Laughter weaves through his words, and he takes no care to hide it.

He swears he hears her mutter about how _what he needs is a proper name_ ; he lets out a chuckle as he picks out a change of comfortable clothes. It feels nice—it feels _good_ —to see her less guarded and without unshed tears in her eyes.

Once he’s changed and started a first round of laundry, Cloud peeks into the living room. Tifa lies on her side on the sofa, the cat curled against her legs; it takes him a second to realize she’s sleeping. As he carries on with his chores, he does his best not to make too much noise. It’s hard to say if she needs the rest or if she just wanted to tune out the world after the disaster lunch party—in any case, he takes care not to steal that moment of tranquility from her.

The cat shows up as Cloud is taking his first batch of laundry out from the dryer; he jumps inside, seeking the warmth—and leaving cat hair all over the clean clothes. While the black cat hair won’t be too apparent on his mostly black clothing, he wishes it could have stayed hair-free for more than five minutes.

“Get out,” Cloud hisses, reaching out for the cat. He picks him up despite the indignant yowling and drops him on the floor. The noise is loud enough that he winces as he remembers Tifa is sleeping, though she could be awake if the cat wandered away.

Cloud shuts the door to the dryer, sending a warning glare at the cat, and heads for the living room to find Tifa still asleep. She moved in the last hour, curling around herself as if to ward off the cold. Cloud averts his gaze when he notices the way her dress hitched up a little, revealing the top of her thigh high stocking. The sight of a slightly disheveled Tifa with her hair down and wearing the dress he bought her accelerates his heartbeat in a way that’s both pleasant and troublesome. Cloud grabs the lightweight throw on the nearby armchair and sets it over her before walking away, hoping the monotonous chores will clear his head.

It’s as he’s folding the last of his laundry in his room that he hears her shuffling around. Cloud keeps his attention on the t-shirt in his hands when her footsteps get close—but when she halts by the side of the bed, he has no choice but to lift his head. There’s a brief moment of silence where he absorbs the disquiet that envelops her—he’d thought she’d be feeling better after her nap. But he supposes that she finds no relief in whatever pushes her closer to the moment where she needs to face reality once more.

Still, he does what he can to put her at ease. “Sleep well?” he asks with a faint smile.

Tifa nods, but her nervous expression gives her away, just like the way she crosses her arms over her chest, almost hugging herself. “I should get back,” she says.

Even if Cloud had known it was coming, the statement stings, the pain quick but sharp. “Alright, I’ll drive you back.”

“No.” The word rushes out of her, and for a split second, he thinks it’s because she wants to stay. The thought scatters when she adds, “I’ll take a cab.”

He frowns, folding the last of his shirts before getting to his feet. “No need, I can drive.”

“No,” she says again.

Her voice is softer now, and Cloud holds his breath—it’s the kind of softness that’s a little desperate, like she’s losing a battle, and not one meant to pacify a rejection.

“Tifa, I know money isn’t a problem, but—” He stops when she shakes her head. “Did I do something wrong?” The question slips from him, and despite the impulse to brush it off, Cloud lets it hang between them.

“No.” A whisper this time. “But I won’t be able to go back if you’re there.”

Her confession feels like the unraveling of a thread that spins out of control, like something that can’t be weaved back to its original state no matter how hard they try—it’s _them_ , Cloud realizes, they’re the ones that can’t return to a world of indifference and coldness; one where he doesn’t know how she looks when she smiles and wears her hair down; one where what he promised her is over before it really began.

“Then don’t,” he says.

Tifa blinks, her shock taking over in the wake of his words; he knows she’s waiting for him to take them back—and in that silence, Cloud thinks that maybe he should have lied, but his doubts don’t have time to grow before she speaks. “You make it sound so simple.”

The cat jumps on the bed, catching both of their attention for different reasons; Cloud curses and picks up the folded clothes, and Tifa bites her lip before holding the cat up against her chest.

Cloud is putting away the clothes, his back to her, when she says, “I’m making dinner.”

He twists his head to look at her over his shoulder, and she stares right back.

“It’s my condition.” Her voice trails into a chuckle when the cat bumps his head against her chin.

“Fridge’s pretty empty, though,” he says, facing his dresser again. The grip that squeezes his heart shortens his breathing, and he’d prefer she didn’t notice.

“Don’t tell me you live off takeout?”

He shrugs.

“Takeout and coffee? Really? That’s your diet?” She pads out of the room, but not before muttering, “Unbelievable.” The cat punctuates her sentence with a loud meow.

With a sigh, Cloud shuts the drawer, the last of his clothes put away. His phone signals a new email came in, and he remembers the way he talked to President Shinra. He groans as he looks at the notification, seeing it’s a work email. But when he opens it, it’s a standard request from Reeve to forward him documents about their current campaign as soon as possible in the morning. Despite the reassuring nature of the request, Cloud gets the feeling it’s only the calm before the storm.

Noise from the kitchen snaps him out of it—Tifa complaining about his mediocre supply of pantry staples and the cat joining in in support—and it serves as a reminder to put work concerns away. Cloud pockets the phone and heads into the kitchen.

Whatever happens tomorrow can be dealt with then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come scream at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sk_evans).


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